


Pacific

by asocialconstruct



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, lots of make outs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/pseuds/asocialconstruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Encke reprimands Deimos for letting Cain push him around, porn ensues, etc etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pacific

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A2MOM](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=A2MOM).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY A2MOM! Hope it was a wonderful one; I'm always so happy and grateful to have you around and writing for our fandom. <3 <3 <3

“Sit down and shut up,” the lieutenant growled, shoving Deimos in the door of his office.  The door whispered closed behind them, ominous in the silence as Deimos sat, sore from the fight and Cain’s laugh still ringing in his ears.

Encke shoved him down to sit in the little rickety chair, looming over him with arms crossed over his chest.  “Look, Pacific, I’m really fucking sick of whatever bullshit is up with you and Reliant.  Tell him to back the fuck off or I’ll do it for you, the only orders I want you listening to are mine and Bering’s.”

Deimos nodded, eyes on Encke’s boots.  Thought better of it and flicked his eyes up, dropping them again to be coy.  He heard the lieutenant take a breath, loud in the quiet office, and took that as his signal to push a little harder, lifting his chin and licking his lips, eyes on Encke’s mouth first and then his crotch.  There wasn’t anything he couldn’t make an officer forget, no matter how pissed off Encke thought he was, and Cain would thank him for it later.

Encke uncrossed his arms slowly and Deimos wet his lips again, leaning into it when the lieutenant put a warm hand on his face.  “Did Reliant put you up to this?” Encke snarled suddenly, squeezing Deimos’ face and yanking his chin up so Deimos had to look at him, more pissed off now than he had been, Deimos’ heart pounding with the miscalculation.  

Extra PT at least and maybe time in the brig, for certain for him and definitely for Cain if Deimos admitted it.  Deimos shook his head, as much as he was able to, surprised when Encke let his face go.

“Shit, Pacific, what the fuck is _with_ you two?  The two of you aren’t particularly fucking subtle, anybody with more’n two braincells to rub together can tell you’re fucking—“  Deimos shook his head sharply, cutting Encke off without really meaning to.  “You mean you’re _not_ fucking?  Then why the hell do you let him push you around like that?  Shit, Pacific, you’re a whole fuck of a lot smarter than that, you could go far if you quit letting him get you in trouble.”

Deimos nodded silently, miserably, trying to hold it back, but one little gulping sob escaped him and then another one, because Encke didn’t know and there wasn’t any explaining it.

“ _Shit_.”  Deimos flinched as Encke’s broad hand landed on his shoulder, expecting his other to follow across his face, slapping him out of the chair, a monumental humiliation for a momentary weakness, something Cain would have done.  But Encke’s warm hand just rested there, then patted tentatively.  “Don’t—fuck, Pacific, don’t cry—“

Deimos sniffled and nodded, trying to pull it together, but Encke’s awkward patting only made it worse, pulling all the rawness out of him.  It would have been better if Encke had yelled, shaken him for his weakness, so that Deimos could just wall it all off and pretend to be as strong as Encke was.

But Encke didn’t do any of that, just patted his shoulder, squeezing slightly as Deimos took one shuddery breath after another.

“You’re okay, son, you don’t need that asshole anyway,” Encke said, shattering the little tatters of control Deimos had managed to get together, because he did need Cain, needed him so badly, it was Cain who didn’t need Deimos, and it all just came flooding out in hiccuping sobs while Encke cursed and rubbed circles on his back.

“Here, just—fuck, don’t _cry_ ,” Encke said, sounding almost as miserable as Deimos felt.  Then his hand was thankfully gone, the sound of rummaging in a drawer covering the sound of Deimos’ sniffles.

Deimos stood when Encke came back with the tissues, hoping for a quick dismissal if he just kept it together long enough for a reprimand and a warning not to let Cain bully him around so much.  But his knees were weak and so was he, so Deimos leaned heavily against the desk and dabbed at his eyes, trying not to think too much about the way the lieutenant shifted uncomfortably.

“Pacific—Deimos—“ Encke said, brushing the hair away from Deimos’ face, making him glance up with nothing coy about it now.  “Why you let him do this to you?”

Deimos shrugged and tried to look away, but Encke’s hand was still there, solid and almost comforting, so he ended up turning his face into it, hiding in Encke’s warmth.  

“There’s plenty of guys on this floating death trap that’d treat you better than him, if that’s it,” Encke said, gentle when he could have been cutting, and when Deimos looked at him again he was close enough to kiss, so Deimos did.

He was warm and slow, lips softer than Deimos had expected for some reason, and it made his heart race faster when Encke picked him up and set him firmly on the desk, stepping between his legs to get closer as they kissed.

Deimos twisted his hands in Encke’s uniform, thinking better of it now that it was happening, his feet dangling where he sat on the edge of Encke’s desk.  “Cain won’t—“

“I don’t give a fuck what he wants.  You want to leave, you leave because you want to, not because Cain told you to.  What do you want, Pacific?”

Deimos glanced back at the door, licking his lips, thinking.  He turned back to Encke, tilting his face up.

Encke smiled slowly, spreading his hands across Deimos’ thighs.  “Good.  Good, he gives you any problems about it, you tell me and I’ll take care of it,” Encke said, bending to kiss Deimos’ neck.

Deimos couldn’t quite tell if it was Encke’s mouth or his own skin that was so burning hot, but it didn’t really matter because the warmth spread down his neck and chest as Encke’s mouth trailed lower, nibbling warm and ticklish, insistent and solid as Cain but not so rough, just slow and inevitable as a tide.

He tipped dangerously towards Encke, caught in his broad hands as Deimos tried to push against Encke’s thigh, aching hard and needing to feel how hard Encke was for him, desperate for someone to finally want him for himself.

Encke picked him up off the desk, his big hands almost circling Deimos’ waist as they turned and Encke lowered them into his chair, practically cradling Deimos, lips warm and soft against his ear.

Deimos straddled him in the tattered old office chair, almost exactly what he’d been thinking of doing anyway, but Encke fumbled with Deimos’ fly and kept kissing, nothing fast and rough, all his attention focused on getting Deimos’ cock free to stroke even though he could feel how hard Encke was.  Deimos rolled his hips against him, trying to break the kiss long enough to make Encke fuck him fast and rough, but Encke wasn’t having it.  He just teased and stroked Deimos’ cock in long, sure motions, making him gasp and whine.

When he finally relented, it was only enough to let Deimos stroke his cock too, gorgeous and heavy and warm like the rest of him, Deimos steadying himself with one hand on Encke’s broad shoulder as the lieutenant leaned into him and trailed light, warm kisses down his neck, tugging the collar of his jacket and shirt away to reach more skin.

It was the kissing that did it, pushing him close, tight and shaking with Encke’s hand warm and solid and his mouth roaming, down and then back up, kissing deep with Encke’s tongue curling hot against him.  Pushing, pushing, so insistent but gentle with it that Deimos was shaking with how badly he needed it if Encke would only stop teasing when the door whispered open again.

“Encke, do you have—oh.  Am I interrupting?  Who’s this?”

Deimos startled and glanced back, Keeler standing there in front of the closed door.  His hands tensed on Encke’s shoulders, ready to bolt out of there as Keeler came around the desk with a curious look on his face, but Encke just smiled past him at Keeler, as if there was nothing wrong with getting caught fucking in his office.  Encke stroked his thighs absently, leaning back in his chair as Keeler came around to kiss Encke briefly, looking Deimos up and down.

“You’re Phobos’ fighter aren’t you?” Keeler said finally, brushing Deimos’ hair out of his eyes.  “He always did have good taste.”

“You wanna stay for a few minutes, baby?” Encke asked Keeler, glancing from him to Deimos, who just watched him both wide-eyed.

Keeler raised his eyebrows, glancing at Deimos, who nodded, not trusting his voice with the chance of getting Keeler naked and doing god only knew what.  “I’d love to, but I have a meeting in fifteen.  Tonight, though . . . ?”

Deimos and Encke nodded together, eyes almost comically big as Keeler reached down to stroke both their cocks together, kissing Deimos with light, sure practice, exactly as delicate and firm as he looked.  Encke came with a cursing moan with his hands clenched hard on Deimos’ thighs, every thick pulse of his cock squeezed against Deimos’ in Keeler’s hand.  Keeler hummed his approval against Deimos’ mouth, stroking both of them through it, slow and steady and inevitable as Encke leaned forward to kiss Deimos’ collarbone, and he came surrounded by them.

Keeler gave them both a bemused look as he straightened and wiped his hand.  “Tonight, then?” he said, giving Deimos and Encke both one last kiss.


End file.
